the land of floating hearts

on some days she travels,
from the roots of her grounded mind
to the land of floating hearts;
where exist one’s true loves,
and a pair for the heart.

on some days she travels,
away from the home of her steady mind
to the land of those in love;
she wonders patient yet afraid,
will she ever find a place?

on some days she travels,
over the barriers of her loneliness
to the land of the enamoured and entwined;
she gets a touch of of the warm breeze,
where they say, love is in the air.

on some days she travels,
leaving behind her worries and ambitions
to the land of those loyal to their love;
she yearns to feel her hand be clasped,
by someone she’d never have to share.

on some days she travels,
with her heart on her sleeve,
to the land of of floating hearts;
where exists one’s true loves,
and a pair for the heart.

ma

it is late in the evening – the sun has
one foot out the door; reluctant to go,
she leaves behind a splash of colours to
remind one, of her crimson warmth and glow.

with my petite frame shrivelled with failure,
i sit on the edge of my bed, and i
wait for the light of my sun to return
to help assuage my pain, and pacify.

her scarlet poise fades a little when i,
greet her quietly, words lodged in my throat;
one breath later, she’s battling my despair,
her arms round me, the strongest antidote.

my head pressed against her chest, eyes shut tight;
yet, stubborn tears escape and roll down fast,
discolouring her once red blouse to stale
burgundy: a change in weather forecast.

wiser than most, kinder than many, she
proves passively powerful once again
as she bears the weight of my heavy heart,
teaches me to conquer my mind and reign.

my distorted view of success she mends,
with her gentle words and nurturing smile;
from one of callous comparison to
faith in oneself and a journey worthwhile.

Venus, Earth or Mars, we are all the same:
different worlds that orbit around her –
our source of power, love and optimism;
she keeps us grounded, safe and together.

i remember the days

i remember the days,
when your breath would stagger
each time your eyes met mine.
i remember how,
the hair on your skin would rise
every time you touched my bare spine.
i remember when
your heart was steady, strong and true
when we laid under the stars with our wine.
i remember the days,
when your lips used to yearn
only for mine.
today when i look at you from afar,
and you fail to spot me
like you once did in a crowd.
my heart stammers and it stutters;
i miss the way you would smile
before shouting my name out loud.
but it’s the change in your breath and in the pace of your heart
when you’re with someone who isn’t me
that makes me believe i’m shadowed by a dark, gloomy cloud.
you claimed i was your one true love,
or so i heard, when you said i was your one among many
it’s my fault, i’m naïve and i’m not proud.

enigma

wrote this when i was 12 going on 13; i wonder what was going on in my mind back then hm

If the keyboard was a maze,
would you be able to find your way out?

If you were the size of an ant,
would you be able to last a day?

Or perhaps,

If you were the most important person in the world,
would you not let arrogance get in your way?

The answers to these questions,
happen to be a mystery.
An enigma such that,
no physicist, scientist or philanthropists’ mind
could have the solution initially.
Correct me if I’m wrong,
but every coin has three sides.
The two, that we’re already aware of,
and the one that’s somewhere in between.
Standing on its edge, with every answer
leaning towards being incomplete.
The answer remains buried deep,
in our heads.
Waiting for our consciousness to,
reach out and answer these questions,
by ourselves.
Put yourself in the shoes,
of the situation you’re facing,
be calm, collected and eager
to discover the answer you’ve been chasing,
At last.

ps: have you noticed i’ve changed my url? ajournalnotadiary had become borderline cringy

spotlight

Tap, tap, tap.
I hesitatingly tap the stage mic with the faltering pads of my fingers
just as I would tap the shoulder of a stranger;
I tap the head of the mic, even though I know it works perfectly well, I tap it;
I’m stalling.
On a stage, under the spotlight, with a lump in my throat,
I stand before an expectant crowd;
I have avoided this situation more times than I count.
I recall the endless videos I have watched of confident poets
painting the air with their hands on the stage;
the rhythm in their rhymes, the twangs in their ‘I’s,
the mystery behind their pauses and the drawls in their sighs;
“You’re meant to be just a writer, you could never perform.”
I hear the words of my traitorous and trembling hands;
“People are staring, don’t you dare mess up.”
I hear the hiss of my conditioned mind;
I hear but I don’t listen.
“It’s okay, go ahead; you’re doing just fine.”
I listen to the soft whisper of my rapidly beating heart;
it’s thumping so loud, the mic finally catches some sound.
It’s so quiet, I can hear the walls whispering to each other;
I close my eyes and take a deep breath,
as I would before I dive into the endless ocean.
I feel the side of my lip twitch and I unclench my hands;
I open my eyes and they shift to the clock on the right;
it’s been twelve seconds since I stepped up onto the stage.
And then, I spoke on my first fourteenth second on stage alone:
“Let me tell you about the day I overcame my stage fright,
in this hall, before this crowd and under this very spotlight.”

 

conflict

his brows furrowed, with a ticking vein,
her face mirroring only anguish and pain;
he’s angry, she’s scared; they’re fighting yet again
what could they possibly have to gain?

their fight is over something so trivial, so petty,
but she knows exactly why her heart is so heavy;
it’s almost become customary,
how regularly they fight; it’s become utterly weary.

he knows that she’s done no wrong,
she knows that he’s just been working too long;
they’re tired, they’ve never been too strong,
a mere moment of silence feels like a song.

in between their hollow words they failed to see,
their little boy, hiding behind the tapestry;
it was each other at whom they were angry,
but it was the boy who cowered, stiff as a tree.

one of the few things that kept the boy awake at night,
was not the odd flickering of his bedroom light,
or even monsters under the bed that gave most a fright,
but the mere thought of his parents having a fight.

the seven year old boy had not one clue
about the meaning of 11:11 or how it worked too
yet everyday, he’d wish for both to forgive and let go
he’d wish and he’d wish, never for anything new.

infatuation

i haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you,
i’ve never had a conversation with you;
neither do i know what you’re like in person,
and nor have i heard your voice;
it’s strange, how the only eye contact with you
has been one-sided, with a picture on your profile;
the only side of your personality i’ve seen,
is the one you show to everyone online,
and i hate to come terms with the fact
that i am merely one of the many hundreds
who has failed to catch your eye.
i’m not being biased one bit, when i say
that we could be great friends,
but there must be another few hundreds,
who probably have the same very thought;
is this what is infatuation?
this unfounded, seemingly false, intense longing
when i have no clue of your real being,
when i have no clue of your true thoughts,
when i have no clue of your feelings and emotions,
and yet, my admiration for you has no bounds;
i truly hate that i feel this way; that sometimes
my actions are governed by your reactions,
my expressions are ruled by your disregarding eye,
my thoughts are disturbed by your typed words.
i despise that i’m unable to control my feelings,
and that i’ve put you on a pedestal
when all that we have in common,
is my infatuation towards you and
yours towards someone else.